Impossible Girl
by PwnedByPineapple
Summary: Seven oneshots for Clara Appreciation Day.
1. values & worldview

**Title:** Impossible Girl  
**Summary:** Seven oneshots for Clara Appreciation Day.  
**Notes:** Clara Appreciation Day is March 5 over on Tumblr, and this is a series of countdown prompts, starting on February 27.

* * *

**Prompt 1:** **values/worldview.  
Summary:** In some ways, they're only shadows. In others, they're everything she wants to be. But Clara takes comfort in the fact that they are, at their core, her. Set immediately after 7.13 'The Name of the Doctor.'  
**Notes:** I've been wanting to write about Clara's echoes for a while now, but I just don't have the time to write something really developed, so you get this weird rambling stream-of-consciousness thing instead. Idk, the prompt might have gotten away from me a bit.

* * *

In some ways, they're only shadows. In others, they're everything she wants to be. They flit through her mind almost too quickly to follow – not strong enough to be memories, perhaps, but… perceptions. Sensations that brush up against her consciousness. Impressions verging on imagination. Most times, they're fleeting and ghostly. Sometimes, they're strong enough that she can hang on to a memory, catch a glimpse into a newfound part of herself that is at the same time distant and alien. If she follows the thread, reaches for it, and makes it stronger by virtue of her attention, she can even see things clearly.

(The sky in that place is bottle green tinged with yellow. The air is warm and humid and constantly heaving, threatening hail and mighty winds. It always seems to be dusk there. It's not a nice place to live, but people are like that, no matter what part of the universe they come from – they won't leave what they've clung to for far too long.

She wonders how she knows that. She's never left this place, never ventured outside the safety of her family, and yet here she is, running headlong into danger. The sky has gotten greener, the clouds angrier, and she's running straight for the man who caused it all. She should hate him for bringing such chaos to her home, but all she knows is that he's in danger and that he has to survive. Something's wrong. It isn't his fault.

She wonders how she knows.)

Some of them had been oblivious to their origin. Some of them had been more aware. Aside from their purpose, there's no rhyme or reason to the way they ended up, what parts of her they carried.

She knows that she probably shouldn't be prodding these memories. Better to let them fade from her consciousness – a dream that slips from between your fingers like sand, once you've woken up, because having sensations and half-memories that aren't quite _hers_ is strange, frightening. But she _is_ awake, and they're not dreams, and they swirl temptingly beneath the surface of her consciousness, an invitation for the curious mind.

And Clara is curious. Very curious.

(She holds the crying child tightly, running her fingers through his hair and whispering soothing nothings. Her frantic eyes scan the pandemonium around her – the dark of night is broken only by fire, lurid and red, and she knows the chance of getting out of this alive is slim. Nonexistent, even. Her heart pounds in her chest, and she wants to calm it, because she's almost sure that the child can feel it. She doesn't want him to feel her fear.

And yet, there's a strange tranquility to her, that keeps her hands steady. She _knows_ what she has to do, and it gives her power - power enough to face forward without flinching. And if she can save the Doctor, and save this child, too, then it will be worth it. It will all be worth it.)

That one had been more aware of her purpose. The most energized memories are strongest, closest to the surface, but it hadn't all been chaos and fire and death. Sometimes it had been as simple as nudging the Doctor in the right direction – making sure that one little action was set right, lest the domino effect cause something much worse down the road. Those threads of memory are harder to follow, however, and so she reaches, knowing full well that she probably shouldn't. She reaches for other sensations that are almost as strong as her most vivid ones – not so much terrifying as exhilarating, because she'd seen and done _so much_.

(Eta Carinae goes supernova, and she's there to see it, as close as is safe. It's the only time when the death of something takes her breath away.)

(The biggest waterfall in the universe is a sparkling cascade of a thousand metric tons, as far as the eye can see, and she can't help the delighted laughter that bubbles up.)

She'd lived, so many times. It's enough to make her giddy – an dizzying undercurrent of excitement and fear, tugging at her conscious mind. She doesn't even know what to make of it, if it's her or if it's not her. A stranger's memories or her own. A dream or real.

But dwelling on their nature brings the dark memories back.

(A starship, named _Alaska_, and she'd only wanted to see the universe. But it goes wrong. So very wrong.

_Human. You're human. You're not…_)

(She doesn't know where she is. She's lost. _She's lost._)

She doesn't _want_ those memories to be hers. Not the dark ones. Not the terrifying ones. Not the ones where she's lost and alone and scared.

There's a lot of that – which is to be expected, considering the enemy she'd combated at every step of the way. She shies away from those memories, however, and wants to push it all as deep as it will go.

She wants to bury it all, because it's pulling her in every which way, and she can't control it.

They're too strong.

… But that isn't all there is.

(Gallifrey glitters, and she _remembers_ it.)

(A mountain. A huge, snow-capped mountain, and she'd climbed it. Just because she could.)

(And then there are the quieter moments. She remembers learning how to bake, to bake _properly_, and being good at it.)

(She remembers so many faces, so many people. A shining dance hall, a voyage, a city. So many cities. So many places. She'd loved it, every time.)

They're pieces of her – fragmented, not quite whole, but _her_.

(Two children, almost like Angie and Artie. Another time, far removed, but real. She'd cared for them. She remembers snow.)

The sensations are still swirling in her mind, tugging and pulling and threatening to break her down into those pieces again.

But Clara holds on to what she knows.

She'd been divided, yes, but she'd still been _her_. Those pieces had carried her far and wide, but they hadn't lost her in the process. No matter how lost she had become, she'd held on – to herself, to what made her up, to what she loved.

Perhaps that's why the Doctor had been able to come for her, to pull her out unharmed.

(Well, relatively.)

_The Doctor_…

"Clara? That's it, Clara, just focus on opening your eyes."

She does just that, eyes fluttering. Over her, the Doctor hovers like a worried mother hen, practically bouncing in agitation. He does that when he's anxious. It brings a smile to her face – a tired, maybe slightly delirious smile, and the Doctor returns it encouragingly.

"You're okay, you're just fine," he says, sounding more like he's reassuring himself. "You are, aren't you? How do you feel?"

She's in her room in the TARDIS. Well, that's different – she hasn't spent much time in it, and usually it runs away from her. But the TARDIS isn't trying to pick on her right now.

Clara doesn't answer. She isn't quite sure how to. Her head feels heavy, as if it's carrying extra weight… and it is. She doesn't even know how to _begin_ explaining that. She'd done a fair bit of processing in her… sleep, or whatever that had been. But approaching it in consciousness isn't the same.

"What do you remember?" the Doctor prompts gently.

She remembers so much and yet hardly anything. She remembers emerging whole, blessedly whole, in a place that had frightened her. She remembers the Doctor, _her_ Doctor, coming for her. She remembers clinging to him, so thankful that she wasn't alone. She remembers another Doctor, one she hadn't recognized.

She remembers the fragments of her fractured self, and they don't really scare her as much, anymore.

Clara smiles at the Doctor again. "You and I have a lot to discuss," she says.


	2. relationship with the Doctor

**Prompt 2: relationship with the Doctor.  
****Summary:** She's shaken up, and he can tell, so he invites her to stay a night in the TARDIS for the first time. Set during early s7b.**  
**

* * *

It had been a close call. Much, much too close, and by the time they got back to the TARDIS, Clara's heart rate still hadn't fully settled. She could see the Doctor watching her, out of the corner of his eye, and she wondered if he noticed her doing the same. He seemed fine – not rattled in the slightest, and so Clara made sure that her hands were steady and her breathing was even.

The Doctor had gone up to the console, but he didn't fiddle with anything or enter any coordinates. Instead, he spun around, plastering a huge grin on his face.

"How about," he said, making a wide gesture to the TARDIS's interior, "you stay the night?" A moment later, his brow furrowed, and he adjusted the statement. "Well, it's not _really_ nighttime, but it _was_ evening when I picked you up, so I'm assuming that you're probably tired. Humans. You've got such funny sleep schedules, all short and repetitive and easy to follow."

Clara raised an eyebrow, waiting until his rambling died down. "You sure your mother would be okay with that?" she asked lightly, glancing around the console room. More and more she got the impression that the TARDIS didn't like her. At all.

The Doctor made a face. "She is _not_ my mother, and yes! You should spend some quality time with her, anyway."

Despite her misgivings about the TARDIS (and her unwillingness to spend more time with her, like that wasn't vaguely weird), Clara wanted to say yes. Her chest was still uncomfortably tight, her body on alert and not ready to settle, and since the Doctor had a high propensity for getting out of tight situations in ridiculous and effective ways, being near him was comforting. Usually, Clara amended, thinking about his stranger qualities.

Instead, she moved a little, coming up the steps and making a show of thinking about it. She narrowed her eyes at the Doctor, half thoughtful and half accusing. "You're not making a move, are you?"

"A move?" the Doctor said, looking down at himself. "No, I'm staying quite still." Then it hit him. He looked up, pulling the same face from before. "I am _not_," he said, in mock offense.

Clara smiled and waited a few moments before speaking again, watching him squirm a bit under her gaze. "This place has bedrooms?" she asked at last. She assumed that the Doctor lived in here, somewhere, but it hadn't really crossed her mind that he'd have living spaces for other people, too.

The Doctor grinned again. "It can have whatever you want," he said, hand hovering invitingly over the console.

Okay, _that_ was tempting. Did that mean that the ship could create rooms at will? Clara let herself waver at last. It really did feel safer in the TARDIS, with the Doctor, even if the ship seemed to hold some grudge against her. One night couldn't hurt.

She shrugged. "Alright, then. One night."

The Doctor's grin widened, and he spent a moment fiddling with something or the other. Then he offered Clara a hand. "There's also a library," he said. "And a pool. Sometimes they're together."

Sometimes he made it too easy to rib him. "You _are_ making a move," Clara said, wondering why on earth someone would put a pool in a library and put the books in danger like that. She took the Doctor's hand and found that her chest wasn't so tight anymore. "Typical."

"And _your_ mind is in the gutter, Clara Oswald," the Doctor said matter-of-factly, not letting himself be fazed this time. He led her towards another set of steps, which faced a doorway that Clara assumed would lead into the depths of the TARDIS. She'd never been that far in before, and she found herself curious. Did the layout change depending on what the inhabitants needed? To judge by the Doctor's earlier comment, it probably did.

The Doctor glanced back at her with another grin as he reached the bottom step. "Oh, you are going to love this," he said. "It just goes on. Infinite, you know."

Clara smiled. He may have been an alien, but the way he talked about the TARDIS… it was no different than any man or woman who ran a ship. It was very typical, him trying to comfort her with it. Clara nodded – feelings about the TARDIS aside, she _was_ comforted. He was good at that, when he wasn't being completely weird. "Lead the way, Captain."


	3. favorite books, tv shows, & fandoms

**Prompt 3: favorite books/TV shows/fandoms.**  
**Summary: **Doctor Who/Hobbit crossover. She listens to a tale of dwarves and dragons.  
**Notes:** For the purposes of this short little ficlet, please pretend that _The Lord of the Rings_, _The Hobbit_, etc. do not exists as books in the DW universe and instead exist on another planet. Also, this fic follows the previous one, but it's standalone.

* * *

A smile grew on Clara's face when she stepped outside of the TARDIS and took in her surroundings. All around was grassy, rolling hills, and the one by which they'd landed had a _door_ in it and a surrounding garden to boot. The sky was a clear, dazzling blue, interspersed with huge puffy clouds, and a pleasant breeze creating undulating patterns in the tall grass in the distance. And the _smell_… it could only be described as fresh and bright, the kind of scent that created a sense of peace and made you relax. A little road wound past the garden, leading off to other, similar hills, where Clara could distantly see moving figures.

The Doctor emerged behind her, took a look at her face, and grinned as well. "Welcome to the Shire," he said. "Nice, isn't it?"

Clara nodded; it was a far cry from their last adventure, and she had an idea of why the Doctor had brought her here. This place seemed to radiate peacefulness and quiet and calm – all things that the Doctor was not drawn to, but things which he knew she would appreciate after yesterday. "Do the people _live_ in these hills?" she asked.

The Doctor nodded. "You shouldn't have to worry about bumping your head on the ceiling, though," he said. "You're barely taller than them."

"Oi!" Clara said, wondering just how small the natives were. "Calling me short?"

Her wonderings about the natives were answered when she heard excited giggling. Both Clara and the Doctor turned to see four children running up the road, apparently having seen the TARDIS materialize. And they were so _tiny_. Clara had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at how utterly _adorable_ they were. The children hesitated several feet from the TARDIS, overcome by sudden shyness, and Clara stepped closer to them, crouching down so as to lessen the height difference.

"Hello," she said gently. "My name is Clara. You don't need to be scared. You see this?" She gestured back at the TARDIS. "This is a magic box."

"Magic?" asked the little girl in the lead, her eyes wide.

Clara leaned in, to whisper confidentially, "It can travel _anywhere_."

"Really?" a boy asked. "Even far away?"

Clara nodded. "Anywhere you want."

"Even backwards and forwards in time," the Doctor said very seriously and importantly, and Clara saw that he'd crouched down beside her. Both of them grinned when the children's eyes grew even wider. Their shyness gone, the children began talking all at once, all of them demanding a ride. The Doctor laughed. "Maybe another time," he said. "I don't think any of your parents would be too happy about it." He leaned closer to Clara and whispered, "The locals aren't exactly appreciative of people dropping _literally_ out of nowhere." Which gave Clara the impression that he'd probably ticked off the locals before. Naturally.

"You'll worry your mothers sick if you go running off in a stranger's magic box," said another voice. Clara looked up to see another of the natives rounding the TARDIS, seemingly not at all surprised to find it there. He appeared to be full-grown, but he was barely half Clara's size. He smiled at the children. "You had best be getting back to them, now."

The children looked a little disappointed, but they nodded and chorused, "Yes, Mr. Baggins." With last fleeting glances at the Doctor and Clara, they scampered off, chattering excitedly; as Clara rose to her feet, she watched them go with a lingering smile on her face.

The newcomer, Mr. Baggins, folded his arms and regarded the Doctor appraisingly. "You haven't brought trouble again, have you?" he asked. "Because you're as bad as Gandalf, you are."

The Doctor raised his hands in a gesture of peace, grinning sheepishly. "I swear on the TARDIS that I have not _intentionally _brought trouble. I can't help it if it follows me around."

Mr. Baggins smiled widely, then, and came forward to shake the Doctor's hand warmly. "Clara," the Doctor said, glancing at her. "This is Bilbo Baggins, an old friend of mine. Bilbo, this is Clara Oswald, my companion."

Bilbo offered her his hand next, and Clara shook it, smiling in greeting. "It's nice to meet you," she said, wondering how Bilbo and the Doctor knew each other.

"Likewise," Bilbo replied, with a twinkle in his eyes. "I have to say, I find it easier to believe that the Doctor doesn't mean trouble now that he has a friend with him."

"Oh, he gets me into plenty of trouble regardless," Clara said with a laugh. "He does that to his friends, doesn't he?"

Bilbo chuckled, then gestured to the nearby hill with the door. "Have you come for a visit?" he asked both of them. "I was just about to put tea on."

* * *

When Bilbo started telling stories, Clara knew for certain why the Doctor had brought her there.

Bilbo had invited them inside his home under the hill, Bag End, and Clara was delighted by it. It wasn't very tall, which she assumed all of the locals' homes must be like – hobbits, the Doctor had called the natives, and Clara found it to be very appropriate – but it was sprawling. It reminded her of any old English home, minus the more modern amenities, and it was truly the coziest little place she'd ever seen. Clara's head brushed the ceiling at spots, but she didn't have to stoop like the Doctor did, and he glared at her when she laughed at him. Served him right for calling her short. (Which she was, but still.)

Bilbo seemed quite pleased to show her around his home. He appeared to be very proud of it, and he had whipped up tea with the speed of a master. Clara was intrigued by the taste; it wasn't like anything she'd had on Earth, and when she asked Bilbo about it, he gave her the name of a leaf she'd never heard of.

Soon enough, there were all seated near the fireplace, where a small, merry fire burned; the nearest window was open to let the breeze in, and the contrast felt wonderful. Clara could feel herself unwinding simply by virtue of sitting there – with the warm mug in her hand, the tiny crackling of the fire, and outdoor sounds just outside the window... it felt like paradise. Her kind of paradise.

"You know, Clara's _very_ interested to hear about your, eh, escapades," the Doctor said to Bilbo.

Clara shot him an inquisitive look. That was the first she'd heard of any escapades on the part of the hobbit, aside from whatever trouble the Doctor had brought before, but she refrained from commenting on the Doctor's lie when she noticed the gleam in Bilbo's eyes. He seemed to like talking about it, whatever 'it' was.

"It's something of a long story," Bilbo said to Clara, clearly out of politeness. Yeah, he definitely liked to talk about it.

Clara smiled. Let it never be said that she was one to turn down a story. "We've got all the time in the world," she said, and she heard the Doctor giggle quietly. (He really liked time puns.) Clara assumed that it would be related to how Bilbo actually knew the Doctor – when, as it turned out, the story had nothing to do with him.

Clara was drawn into the tale immediately – a tale of dwarves and dragons and gold and a stolen home. A long journey. Trolls, elves, goblins, eagles, bears, spiders. Forests and lakes and mountains. Clara forgot that she was sitting in a little home underground, as Bilbo wove a vivid picture of the adventure for her with his words. It sounded like something out of a book, and it was impossible to tear her attention away from it (so much that she forgot about the tea she was holding and, much later, found herself with a half a cold mug left). Time passed in that little hobbit hole, still and silent except for Bilbo's voice and the occasional birdsong and the fire's crackling, and yet the three of them were far away, trekking many miles and days across the wilderness.

As the story wound down, coming to an end, Bilbo's voice got softer, more wistful, and Clara's heart went out to him. She understood loss all too well, and it made her think of her mother; from the look on the Doctor's face, he, too, was recalling those he'd lost. However, Bilbo lightened at the very end, recalling with amused frustration how he'd come back to the Shire to find his home and his things being auctioned off. "And that, my dear," he said to Clara, finally, "is why you should never run out on a whim."

Clara laughed outright, and it took her a few moments to find her proper voice. "That was incredible," she said warmly. "It all really happened?"

"Well," Bilbo said lightly, "there's no harm in making a few embellishments about my own bravery."

Clara smiled and asked a few questions, mainly about some things she hadn't quite followed – pieces of the story that didn't quite fit, to her mind. In Bilbo's answers, she got the sense that he was holding back on something, and she didn't press him for details about whatever it was.

"But enough about me," Bilbo said, looking at Clara with interest. "What about you?"

Clara shrugged, still caught up in images of great dragons and mountains. "What about me?"

"How did you end up traveling with the Doctor?"

Clara looked at the Doctor and resisted the urge to laugh again, recalling how he'd shown up at her door in a monk's outfit. "I've always wanted to travel," she said, after thinking about her answer. "It's just... never been the right time. And then this crazy man," she jerked a thumb at the Doctor, who shrugged, not arguing with the descriptor, "showed up at my door and... things happened." She trailed off, frowning. She was doing a terrible job of explaining, mainly because she wasn't sure if Bilbo would grasp something like the Internet, since that was what had started it all. "Well, suffice to say, the Doctor showed up one day, and we defeated an enemy together. So I started traveling with him. On Wednesdays. It works out, when you can go anywhere and have no time pass at all." It was almost cheating, in a way.

Bilbo nodded thoughtfully, and they ended up talking for a while longer... about Clara's adventures so far, about this world, about Clara's world, about some of the Doctor's mad escapades. Clara was hardly aware of time passing, and by the time she and the Doctor exited Bag End, evening was just beginning to settle over the Shire. It cast that place into soft purple and gold light, and Clara let out a contented sigh as she gazed at her surroundings.

"You must come and visit again," Bilbo said, taking Clara's hand warmly and smiling up at her.

Clara grinned. "I'd like that."

* * *

As the Doctor set coordinates for Earth and the Maitland house, Clara came up to him and kissed his cheek. The Doctor looked at her in some surprise. "What's that for?" he asked.

"Thank you," Clara said. She knew he'd brought her here to make her feel better, to demonstrate that traveling with him wasn't all craziness and near-death experiences all the time. He hadn't had to do it, as she didn't mind - after all, she'd chosen to travel with him, and she'd known that it wouldn't exactly be peaceful. But she appreciated the gesture all the same. "That was lovely."

"I _thought_ you two might get along," the Doctor said, dodging around the subject. "You're alike. Both short, for one."

"Yeah, well, tell that to the bruises on your head," Clara returned.

"It's not _my_ fault the ceiling dipped in the most _ridiculous_ places."

"Oh, that's right, blame the ceiling," Clara said with a roll of her eyes, trying not to smile.


	4. side relationships

**Prompt 4: side relationships.**  
**Summary: **Oswin Oswald, River Song, and space pirates.  
**Notes:** Clara and River are my favorite DW characters, so this was inevitable.

* * *

It wasn't exactly what Oswin had signed up for in assuming the role of Junior Entertainment Manager aboard _Alaska_, but as things went, she'd handled it admirably.

Well, to be fair, she'd had help.

The disembodied female voice drifting from the transmitter was calm, but it held a kind of deep, confident thrill in it – what Oswin supposed one got from being large and in charge. The woman, River, certainly seemed to be just that. When the rogue ships had burst into the travel lanes that connected the Algiers Cortex, it seemed that every single spacecraft nearby had descended into mad chaos in trying to escape. Algiers hadn't seen violence in years, but everyone had heard the rumors about the rash of seemingly unstoppable pirates plaguing the galaxy. And everyone was scared about that, on account of having no bloody clue what to do when it came to violence.

Except, perhaps, River, who seemed distinctly unbothered by it all. Oswin took comfort from that. _Alaska_ had its own chaos to deal with, and so Oswin had been the only one to pick up on River's transmissions. She could see River's ship, outside the bay window, firing on the pirates – the ship was maneuvered between the rogue ships and the tangled mess of starliners and other spacecraft all trying to hastily navigate around each other and get away.

"Just get to the bridge," River was saying.

Oswin ran – past frightened passengers and crew members who were barely controlling their panic, as fast as her legs would carry her. "You sure this is going to work?" she said into her transmitter, in between sucked in breaths.

"Of course I'm sure," River said, her voice mildly affronted. "Trust me, I've done this before."

"_What_ did you say you were again?"

"Hmm," said River. "I suppose today I'm a policewoman."

"That's not what you said earlier." Nimbly, Oswin dodging around a particularly panicked man who tried to flag her down, recognizing her as a crew member; it was a bit rude of her, but he'd thank her later.

"No, it isn't," River said serenely.

Oswin briefly considered the fact that she was trusting this voice coming from a ship with a lot of weapons, a voice that changed its professions on a whim. How did she know it wasn't just a ruse on the pirates' part? No, that was probably unlikely – Oswin was pretty sure she'd seen River, or whoever was firing from River's ship, blow one of the pirates' spacecraft to pieces.

That had endeared River to Oswin's trust pretty quickly.

On the bridge, the captain and his officers were all present, and half of them were shouting. Oswin ignored them at first and instead headed straight for the control panel; she'd paid attention during her introductory tour, and she knew exactly where to place the transmitter. Paying no heed to the pilot's question, Oswin jammed the transmitter into the slot that could grant access to _Alaska_'s power system.

"What are you doing?" Captain Oliver demanded, echoing the pilot.

Oswin realized that nearly everyone on the bridge was looking at her. "Saving our lives," she replied, feeling a thrill at the words.

"Oh, that's better," came River Song's voice, this time from the bridge's speakers. "You really shouldn't have shut down your transmitter system, the pirates couldn't have done anything with it. Luckily you've got one smart person aboard."

Oswin suppressed a grin. She had her own special transmitter, altered by none other than her own hand; she had an affinity for technology, and it seemed that it was paying off, as her transmitter was allowing River to hack _Alaska_'s systems.

"Remarkable, really," River said, more commenting to herself than anything. "I didn't think I'd get so lucky on the first ship I tried. Anyway, I need to borrow your power."

"And why the _hell_ would we let you do that?" the captain asked.

"Because I have access to it anyway," River said pleasantly. "Thought it would be more polite to ask."

The captain rounded on Oswin, who stood her ground despite the fact that he was a head taller than her. "She's fighting the pirates," Oswin said, meeting Oliver's gaze squarely. "She's… a policewoman."

Oswin could have sworn she heard River chuckle to herself. "Yes, we'll work out the details of proper identification later," River said, and Oswin got the sense that it meant River would hightail it out of there the minute the pirates were dealt with. The woman seemed to be more of a vigilante than anything. "I really am lucky. A starliner like yours has enough power to create the kind of field I need, if the right kind of genius is on the other end. Oswin, that means you."

River spoke with the quick, steady tempo of a commander, and Oswin could see her fellow crew members responding to it naturally, even if they were consciously wary. "Right you are," Oswin said, turning swiftly to the control panel. "You'll need a funnel, for one, and a booster."

"You are making my job _so_ much easier," River said admiringly.

Oswin grinned outright, shooing aside the pilot's hesitating attempts to help. Her fingers flew over the control panel; truth be told, she'd studied the makeup of the ship with much more than a passing glance. She'd even gotten the _manual_. She knew what to do.

"Alright, gentlemen," Oswin said. "We will be shutting down all access to power except vitals in three… two… one…"

The main lights shut off, only to be immediately replaced by emergency ones that cast the bridge into an eerie blue glow. The control panel was lit brilliantly against the darkness, and Oswin finished her work, satisfaction coursing through her. A funnel of electrical power would be created between _Alaska_ and River's ship, carrying the charge safely through empty space, and the booster would ensure that it entered River's ship without overwhelming that ship's systems. And then the energy would be free for whatever River willed, which Oswin assumed involved some kind of field that would sweep the pirates away from their targets. She wasn't sure. She and River hadn't had much time to talk before Oswin had come running to the bridge; all she knew was that River's ship was low on the necessary energy and that she needed to borrow some from the nearest vessel she could find.

There was enough power left on their own starliner for basic shields, air, and navigation. Oswin glanced at the pilot. "Can you turn her?" she asked. "I want to see what happens."

The pilot, in turn, glanced at the captain, who nodded after a moment of thought. As _Alaska_ tilted to the right, bringing to the mainscreen a view of the rogue ships and River's lone ship in front of them, they were just in time to see an invisible wave completely _bowl over_ the pirate ships. Oswin didn't know the exact kind of ship River was on, but it _had_ to a warship – they were the only spacecraft equipped with the ability to fight like that in empty space.

The rogue ships _crumpled_.

Oswin's thrill was gone. She felt rather sick, even though rationally she knew that any one of those people on the rogue ships would have likely killed her without a second thought. The rest of the bridge was silent as well – no longer doubting or wary, but somber.

A few moments later, there was a slight crackling sound as River once again opened transmissions between their two vessels. The control panel began to whir softly as some of their power returned; numbly, Oswin keyed in the allowance that would let the energy back in.

"It's done," River said. Her voice was much more subdued, although still businesslike. "They won't be bothering this galaxy anymore."

The lights came back on, and they seemed to signal a return of movement – stiff, uncertain movement, as _Alaska_'s officers slowly registered that no threat remained. "Ah… thank you," Captain Oliver said to River, clearing his throat. "I'll be sure to pass along my gratitude to your superiors, as well." It was a common courtesy that ship captains often indulged in, when receiving assistance – the word of a captain held a lot of weight in many circles, as it wasn't the easiest job to obtain.

"Oh, I don't have any superiors," River said. "I lied. This ship isn't even official police. It's retired. I borrowed it. I'm pretty sure it's leaking, too, which is why we can't seem to hold on to any of our damn power for long. I'm going to return this thing, it's rubbish."

Her light words seemed to relax the atmosphere, even as Oliver turned to glare at Oswin, who shrugged. She'd figured as much.

"Why borrow it?" Oswin asked, out of curiosity.

"Because bureaucracy is a terrible thing that gets in the way of apprehending violent criminals," River said, with a sudden, dangerous edge to her voice. "And the police are _very_ slow. _And_ they attacked a place I'm fond of."

Vigilante after all… after a fashion. Oswin was struck by the desire to speak more to this mysterious woman who'd saved Algiers's travel lanes from an attack, but before she could say anything, River's voice came again. "Well, I should be off before the real police come," she said. "You're very welcome for saving your lives. And thank you, Oswin. You were brilliant."

Oswin couldn't help the smile that crossed her face. "So were you," she said.

River laughed a final laugh and then cut off communication; Oswin could see her ship pulling away quickly, now, and she realized that there was no way she could get to a secluded place in time to contact River before the other ship got too far away. With a sigh, Oswin grabbed her transmitter and pocketed it, wondering if she was going to get in trouble with the captain for technically assisting a vigilante.

"Should we report her?" the first lieutenant asked uncertainly, and it took Oswin a moment to realize that they were talking about River, not her.

The captain glanced uncertainly at Oswin, mulling it over. "Did you get her name?" he asked.

River Song. It suited that woman. Oswin shook her head in a negative, and the captain shrugged. "Well, we can't do much about that, then," he said lightly.

Oswin grinned again.


	5. fashion

**Prompt 5: fashion.**  
**Summary: **The Doctor takes Clara shopping.

* * *

It wasn't every day one got to shop in the 51st century, and Clara tapped her foot impatiently, sighing as the Doctor ran about doing a few last minute things. At times, you couldn't _stop_ him from running out the door as fast as possible; at others, he was like that last person who always made you late for things because they had to use the toilet or check their hair or do some other frivolous thing. "I could just walk out right now, y'know," Clara said.

"No!" the Doctor said, darting around the console towards her and pocketing his screwdriver. "I want to see your face." He himself sported a huge grin as he moved nimbly around her and placed a hand on the TARDIS's door. "Okay, Clara Oswald," he said. "Are you ready to see the largest shopping center there ever was or will be?"

"Been ready for the past ten minutes," Clara said, but she was grinning in excitement.

The Doctor opened the door with a flourish of his hands, and the first thing Clara saw was lights. They were everywhere, in every color, and it took her eyes a moment to adjust as she stepped out of the TARDIS after the Doctor. And then she gasped, sucking in a startled breath, because it was hard to picture the sheer _size_ of something massive even if it had been described to you.

They were in some kind of plaza, and the domed ceiling towered so high above them that it was easy to imagine it wasn't even there. Dazzling lights illuminated huge shops set in the walls all around them and kiosks sprawled in the middle and the _crowds_... endless clusters of people of every sort, some of them so utterly alien, even from the things she'd already seen, that Clara felt a bit dizzy. But it was the good kind of dizzy, she thought, as she turned round and round and tried to take it all in – familiar smells and enticingly unfamiliar smells, shops proclaiming all sorts of wares both normal and outrageously weird, throngs of people the likes of which she'd never seen before. She'd never been in any kind of shopping center so massive and alive, and the Doctor had said this was only a _small_ part.

"Is it all like this?" she demanded, whirling around to face the Doctor.

He looked highly pleased with himself. "Oh, this is the simple bit," he said. "Didn't want to overwhelm you."

Clara shook her head in amazement. "And we can explore all of it?" she asked.

"For as long as you want," the Doctor replied, as proudly as if he'd built the place himself.

Clara made another turn, taking in everything the plaza had to offer, and she decided that this was going to be a nice day. A _very_ nice day.

"Good," she said, turning back to the Doctor. "I'm gonna need a second opinion, too." She was sure that she could find everything under the sun for sale here, but she had a main objective – clothes. It wasn't every day one got to shop for _clothes_ in the 51st century.

"Lucky for you, I make an excellent second opinion," the Doctor said, rubbing his hands in anticipation and then straightening his bowtie.

Clara eyed his outfit, trying not to laugh. "No, you don't," she said, with a shake of her head.

The Doctor shrugged. "Yeah, you're right, I don't. In that case, I'll tell you what I would pick, and that'll be your cue to do the opposite."

Clara gave in to the laughter this time. She reached forward, grabbed the Doctor's hand, and tugged him towards the nearest, brightest clothing shop.


	6. past

**Prompt 6: past.**  
**Summary: **How Clara got her mojo back.

* * *

"I've lost my mojo," Clara announces sadly to the dinner table one evening.

Both Mum and Dad look at her in that way that grown-ups sometimes look – like they find a serious issue really funny, for some reason.

"Your mojo?" Mum asks, arranging her smile into a more grave expression.

Clara nods. "It's gone. I don't know where it went."

Dad leans back in his chair, folding his arms. "Well, you've got to find it," he says reasonably. "You can't go on without your mojo."

"Dave," Mum mutters, her smile fighting its way back, and she gently punches him on the arm. Then she turns to Clara again. "Are you sure it's gone, sweetheart? Sounds like something that'd be a bit hard to misplace."

Clara nods again. She's sure of it; she'd know if her mojo was there. Only it isn't – there's an empty little place where it used it be, somewhere in her chest.

"Do you want us to help you find it?" Dad asks.

Adults are good at finding things. Clara nods a third time. "I don't know where to look, though," she admits.

Mum and Dad still look vaguely amused, but they're attentive. "Where's the last place you had it?" Mum asks.

* * *

Over the next several days, the hunt for Clara's mojo goes on.

("I don't know," Clara says thoughtfully, when Dad asks what exactly it is, after an unsuccessful search in the attic. "It's a feeling in my chest."

"Well, then, you really think we're going to find it in a _physical_ place?" Dad asks, bemused.

Clara shrugs. "It's a good place to start.")

They have no luck in the house or the park, and Mum tells her to look at school, but it's not there, either. Neither is Gran able to help, though they look at her house, too.

They even try going to a quiet place and thinking very hard about it, but that doesn't work, either.

* * *

"I do wonder what she means by it," Ellie says softly, worriedly, watching as Clara flips through _101 Places To See_; the girl's young face is unusually pensive. "She's never really clear when I ask."

Dave pats her shoulder reassuringly. "Maybe it's just a thing. Y'know, that kids do. She might get over it."

Ellie shrugs and wonders if Clara is holding back on something. "Maybe."

* * *

"Clara," Mum asks, after she picks Clara up from school, "is there something wrong? Is that why you've lost your mojo?"

Neither Mum nor Dad had asked in such a direct way before, and Clara had gotten the sense, in her own young way, that they had been humoring her. But Mum looks worried, now, and Clara doesn't like it when her Mum is worried. Absently, she bites her lip.

"Mojo is when you're good at something, right?" she says at last.

Mum nods. "Sounds about right."

"Well," Clara says reluctantly. "I'm not very good at… something."

Mum runs a hand through Clara's hair. "What is it, sweetheart?"

"Something we did in class," Clara answers, frowning as she recalls the incident. She's not really good with technology like the other kids are, and it had frustrated her when she hadn't been able to keep up. She'd felt like everyone was watching her, and it had made her feel… small.

Clara's always been smart, but now she wonders if she's really so good after all.

"I didn't do it very well. Some people laughed." She doesn't like being laughed at. She doesn't like being looked down on. She doesn't like feeling small.

"Oh," Mum says quietly, and Clara doesn't know why Mum's looking at her like that. Mum sighs, then, her expression morphing into something a bit more recognizable – fondness. She places a hand on Clara's shoulder. "C'mon," Mum says. "I know how we can get your mojo back."

* * *

They bake soufflés. Well, Mum bakes, and Clara tries, but she's really terrible at it and flour gets everywhere and a few eggs go crashing to the ground. Mum doesn't seem to mind, though. She just laughs and helps Clara to clean it up and tells her that she's doing wonderfully for a first-time soufflé maker.

"Soufflés are hard," Mum says, and Clara listens attentively. "Even just trying to make them is good. And that's all you really need, yeah? Trying. It'll get you anywhere you want to go, in the end." Mum leans in, as if sharing a great secret, and so does Clara, feeling a stirring of excitement. "You see, the trick is… the soufflé isn't really the soufflé. The soufflé is the recipe. It's the effort you put into it that counts."

And Clara thinks it's the most brilliant thing she's ever heard.

When the soufflés are sitting in the oven, Clara watches them for a few moments through the little oven window, and she thinks about how she and Mum made them with their own hands. Those little fluffy soufflés, and they made them.

Then she looks up at Mum. "It's back," she says with a smile, and it really is. Her mojo, all there in her chest, glowing.

Mum smiles and kisses her head.


	7. anything that tickles your fancy

**Prompt 7: anything that tickles your fancy.**  
**Summary: **"Now, this is just unnatural." Or, Clara receives her fifth marriage proposal since she began traveling with the Doctor, and the Doctor is jealous, after a fashion.

* * *

At the question, the Doctor's mouth dropped open, his face contorting in an expression so comically in between amazement and indignation that Clara would have ordinarily burst into laughter. But she restrained herself, for the sake of the young man gazing at her with such earnestness, and instead offered a momentary warning glare when the Doctor made as if to speak. Wisely, he thought better of it and kept his mouth shut, bouncing on his heels as Clara gently explained to her suitor that she was so _very_ flattered by the offer but could not take it up because of time travel, other obligations, et cetera, and that he should keep his mind open to other possibilities of love in the future because he really was a lovely fellow - oh, and that she thought he'd make a wonderful lawyer.

"Now, this is just _unnatural_," the Doctor stated, as soon as they'd returned to the TARDIS.

Clara glided past him, towards the console, and then spun on her heel to face him, eyeing him with one eyebrow arched. "Is it _really_?"

"_Five_," the Doctor said, displaying the same amount of fingers for emphasis. "Three men, two women. It hasn't even been a _year_."

"Well, I wouldn't call that _unnatural_," Clara said innocently and smirked when the Doctor narrowed his eyes at her.

He descended the stairs in a more agitated, flailing way than usual. "_John Adams_," he said. "Last week it was the Queen of Icana V! You know, I'm beginning to think you're a gold digger. Or a fame digger."

"I can't help it that important people like proposing to me," Clara said, just as innocently as before. She leaned on the railing and looked down at the Doctor, who was entering new coordinates. If it was possible to press buttons petulantly, that was the exact adverb Clara would have used to describe it. "And _I'm_ beginning to think that _you're_ jealous."

The Doctor spun around to look up at her. "I am _not_," he said indignantly. "You can marry whoever you like, so long as they aren't terribly boring."

Clara smirked again. "Oh, but that's not what I meant. You're jealous because people keep proposing to _me_. As opposed to you."

In answer, the Doctor circled the console so that he was partially hidden from her view. "_Two_ Founding Fathers fancied me," he said, indirectly confirming her accusation. "That's more than you."

"Ah, but did they propose to you?"

"That's different!" the Doctor said. "Times are different. 1700s Earth, that isn't accepted. So _hah_."

Clara chuckled and then held on tight to the railing as the Doctor sent the TARDIS into the vortex, perhaps to avoid any further discussion. But Clara was in far too good a mood (and far too interested in knowing just how many people _had_ fancied the Doctor compared to how many had fancied her – not because she was feeling competitive, no sir, not at all) to give up just yet. There was also the fact that marriage was sometimes a touchy subject with the Doctor; Clara wanted to make sure that it wasn't bothering him for _other_ reasons, besides playful teasing about jealousy. And if it _was_, then she wanted to cheer him up.

She was used to the haphazard way the Doctor flew the TARDIS by now, so by the time he'd landed the ship, Clara had already made her way down to the console with all the steadiness of a sailor in a gale. "I'm sure plenty of people have proposed to you, too, Doctor," she conceded, as the sound of the TARDIS's landing faded.

"That's right," the Doctor said, sounding slightly more enthused, pointing a finger in her face as he spun away from the console. "_Plenty_."

"Proportionally, though?"

He squinted at her, as if trying to deduce whether she had returned to teasing him. "And what do you mean by that?"

"Well," Clara began reasonably, "I'm not the best at maths, but if I've gotten five marriage proposals in less than a year... then that's roughly one every two months. More, even. Proportionally speaking."

The Doctor opened his mouth, then shut it again. "You-" he began, then stopped and huffed.

"You don't have the same rate?" Clara asked casually.

The Doctor considered the question. "Like you said," he finally replied, just as casually, "_plenty_."

"You didn't answer the question," Clara observed.

"You asked it, I spouted out some words in reply, I think that counts."

Clara couldn't argue with that. Well, she could, but the Doctor would just continue to dance in maddening verbal circles around the subject. Clara was satisfied, however, so she didn't mind. He wasn't upset, not really. He was just being his weird self.

"So," Clara asked, coming in from another angle, "who _has_ proposed to you, then?"

The Doctor grinned at her from the other side of the console. "You're not going to believe some of these."

Clara leaned forward with a smile. "Try me."

* * *

**Notes:** Let's face it, who _wouldn't_ propose to Clara?


End file.
